dva
are you even trying?
luka volkov
20 years old ; born on november 6, 1995 ; scorpio
male ; bisexual
6'1" ; 180 lbs
brown eyes ; dark brown hair
the boy has a new scar across the bridge of his nose from the attack.
vices ; wrath, sloth, lust
virtues ; humility, abstinence, liberality
skills ; writing, astrology, academics
fears ; death, restriction, abandonment
mbti ; istj-a
moral alignment ; chaotic neutral
biography ;
luka was born to aleksandr and yeva volkov in kirov, russia. when the boy was four, the family moved to america. his parents had strong leadership ties to a troubling russian mafia, and moved to the west to expand and strengthen the business. the young immigrant adjusted to the american life quite easily; his family worked 0n the slow process of citizenship while also juggling with their duties to their organization. as the years went on, his parents got more engrossed in their work as the citizenship worries died down. luka saw less and less of his parents and more and more nannies in his elementary years. his academics were proficient; he was already reading at a high school level and his writing was developing marvelously. naturally, he had several friends, but wasn't exactly a social butterfly of his school.
during middle school, he had entered writing competitions. his parents had put him in an ambitious and challenging school for the young and talented, but luka's writing glistened among the others. his book reports were more like study papers; his project essays were nearly on the level of synthesis projects. this brought his parents great pride, encouraging them to take him out to restaurants for celebrations whenever he won a writing tournament. this inspired luka to work harder and harder on his writing in his academic career. like any young child, he wanted the attention of his parents. he would stay up late in the night until his fingers were sore from scribbling his work in full notebooks and his back was aching from being arched over a desk. he would look into the sky through the window of his parent's luxury apartment. the stars were the only thing that distracted the boy from his work. he would notice patterns in the stars and how each constellation affected him differently. this stimulated an interest in the star figures that he would dive into in his early high school years.
during his time as a freshman, he rarely saw his parents. they had "business trips" every other week to fly to russia and back. not even his writing entertained them anymore. he would win medals and scholarships for his writing, but the boy's parents had grown bored of his accomplishments. they had not once tried to even persuade him to join the mafia yet in his life, and luka knew that he really should not swim in those waters. his parents knew the risk they were always taking, but the thrill fascinated them. luka hadn't understood it. if anything, he had become resentful. this lifestyle had stolen his parents away from him, and he didn't want it to thieve him from his writing.
he had developed insomnia slowly from his work drive keeping him up all night. after trying and failing with medications and herbal remedies, he gave up in defeat and returned to gazing out his window each evening. he looked at the stars until he decided to study more about them. he discovered the spiritual twist on the stars: astrology. this absorbed the boy; he read into rising, moon, venus signs ... everything about the subject that he could get his hands on. he hadn't necessarily told anyone about this newfound passion; he was afraid of skeptics making fun of him. he just referenced it in his english papers, scoring big with such abstract concepts.
focusing on his writing through school, he had not gathered many friends. of course, there were few, but he hadn't stuck with them after they moved away to college. halfway through his freshman year in college, his father had finally asked if he would join their organization. luka sternly refused, shocking the russian patriarch. "mal'chik, you have no interest in continuing your family's legacy?" his father's words were filled with disappointment and tinted with anger. luka's skin began to crawl, his blood began to boil, and his teeth began to grind. words began to spill out of his mouth like the blood that had collected from him biting his tongue all these years - about how his status as a child prodigy had been in hibernation to them despite his best efforts to expand his skills in literature, how his birthdays were the only full days he got with them, how he had to explain to his friends for years that yes, of course he could go out 24/7 because his parents weren't even home to care ... he didn't want to be engulfed by the same thing that swallowed his parents. of course this didn't sit well with his father: he picked up his wine bottle and smashed it against luka's back, and dug it into his shoulder blade. this sent luka to the hospital.
luka sat in the fluorescent lights, his eyes empty, accompanied by no one but the doctor who was stitching his shoulder and the chauffeur who drove him to the emergency room. luka was thoughtless; he was numb. he was called ungrateful by his father. he had been living more than comfortably for all these years; he had gotten opportunities that one would kill for. he didn't care, though. he had always felt a resentment towards the mafia. he had no interest in joining. despite this, he was ashamed. he had spent his whole 19 years trying to impress his mother and father, but he has no worth now that he refused to go into the organization. he had dismissed the chauffeur when he was awoken from his spell of sleepless doze, and promised to walk home himself. he arrived at home late that night, and arranged to move out the next morning.
because of his family's prosperity and the amount of money he won from writing, he was able to score a home for himself without a word or a penny from his parents. he couldn't look them in the eye anymore. he worked quietly at part time jobs while also being a student. he was employed at the book store and a coffee shop that was just down the road from his house.
one morning, he woke up at 4 a.m. to open the café. the morning air was bitter and cold; it had just stormed the evening before. luka stepped out of the apartment complex's gate and began walking down the sidewalk, when he was yanked into an alley way. a trio of men began beating him: kicking him in the face, pounding his back, elbowing his chest ... his family's mafia had sent three after their own blood. luka was left to bleed until sunrise.
once found, he was escorted to a hospital, where he lays in a medically induced coma, as his internally bleeding organs and many broken bones are given a chance to mend back together.
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